Woodland Twilight
by Oshun
Summary: A coming of age story about Elves in Mirkwood. Legolas, backdrop of unique social and cultural and ethnic mixes within Mirkwood society.
1. First Kiss

**Woodland Twilight**

(This is a work of fan fiction, inspired works of J R R Tolkien; his characters, settings, places, and languages used in this tale are not mine. Original characters do belong to me. I receive nothing but my own pleasure (and I hope that of my readers) for this work. The work is my intellectual property, is available only for the private enjoyment of its readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.)

1. **First Kiss**

The windless nights of heat and humidity had disappeared from one day to the next. The unexpected respite from the suffocating clamminess of deep woodlands in high summer intensified their pleasure in the dry breezes of this warm starlit night. They advanced with light footsteps on the leaves along the track leading through the forest to the large clearing that lay before the dwellings of the Mirkwood Elven community, which clustered around the entrance to the caverns of King Thranduil. They made one last circle of the required checkpoints along the perimeter of their assigned territory.

Finally, staying within the deep shadow of the trees, they chose a spot on the path into the settlement where they would stop for the remainder of the night watch. The last shafts of sunlight illuminated a cool, green and peaceful space, revealing a fallen tree that could provide a welcome seat. Dropping themselves onto the log, they stretched their legs in front of them and sighed in unison, and then laughed softly at the unintentional concurrence of their mannerisms.

The bone structures of the Elves' fair faces showed traces of a not so distant but seldom considered kinship. There were few without some blood ties to others in their insular community but many families were more closely linked than theirs. Their nearly identical physiques--broad shouldered, long of leg, muscular, lean and supple--were ethnic rather than familial resemblances. Despite facial similarities, each had a distinct coloring. Túgann had grayish green eyes, dark hair and a light sprinkling of freckles across the nearly translucent skin of his cheeks and forearms. Legolas had his father's unusual golden hair and high-colored complexion. He was full-lipped for Elf, but his wide set eyes and higher forehead gave him a more ethereal look than that of King Thranduil.

The northern twilight, which seemed to go on for hours this time of year, was finally fading into night. Barely visible here and there through the foliage the glowing horizon had at last turned from deepening shades of rose to purple. The two Elves settled in for a quiet night. They were unlikely to have anything more to do during their watch except to remain alert and listen for the approach of any intruder or signs of unusual activity in the forest. With their youthful vitality, knowledge of the forest, and Elvish faculties of keen hearing and sight, this would tax them little. Despite their awareness of the external dangers to their well-hidden community, and their intense training in defense, their limited experience of sentry duty had conditioned them to view this responsibility as that of little more than glorified doormen for returning kinfolk. Such travelers rarely appeared after the dinner hour.

They were, however, intelligent enough to recognize that their knowledge was inferior to that which their elders had gained through centuries of experience and, therefore, trusted to discipline and confidence in the judgment of their seniors to guide them in the exercise of their duty. Keeping that in mind, neither removed his leather quiver of arrows, for comfort, nor lay aside his bow. The part of Northern Mirkwood protected by Elven magic (and the relentless use of military force) remained so vast that the larger part of the forest, which had been overwhelmed and poisoned by dark forces, seemed far-off when one assumed close-in guard duty like tonight.

While the world had darkened year by year and fear had fallen on Middle-earth, within the hard-won sanctuary of Thranduil's stronghold, their childhoods had seemed remote from trouble. The movement and consolidation, under Thranduil's leadership, of a large population of Silvan Elves into a protected enclave in Northern Mirkwood had been a massive organizational and military exercise that had dominated community life for years. These young adults did not remember those days. Their everyday existence seemed predictable to these youth and their rigorous military training as much a part of their lives as any other aspect of their education. They acknowledged the danger that surrounded them as an unexceptional reality similar to that of the changing of the seasons. They were aware that evil now encroached upon the land their fathers had claimed through much sacrifice and hardship, and that even the most fiercely independent of the free colonies beyond the woodlands enjoyed only a tentative peace at best.

Sons of Mirkwood nobility, they heard more than their share of whispers, rumor and brutal information regarding the world beyond the confines of Mirkwood and the inevitability of a climactic clash with Mordor. With the passage to maturity, they knew that responsibility to defend their homes would increase and send them farther into blighted areas of the forest. But, as the future often seems to the very young, that time seemed distant as yet.

Educated in classic Sindarin history and tradition, their social and cultural influences were nonetheless strongly Silvan. As a result, they would not spend time brooding that summer night. It was not long before Túgann took up his familiar role of entertainer and jester. Legolas chuckled at his spirited and shockingly irreverent, if implicitly affectionate, imitation of Túgann's mother's dressing-down of the numerous young Elves of their crowded merry household. "Out! Out now! Or I will lash every last one of you until you wish you were not immortal!" Túgann's exaggeratedly shrewish shrieks, accompanied by spitting and heavy breathing, much heaving of chest and head tossing, were especially hilarious to Legolas whose only vision of his friend's mother had been the public persona of an elegant Elven noblewoman of apparent serenity and pride. Túgann laughed at himself and added, "It might be more effective if were not for the fact that she has never struck any of us! I presume that with her tongue it is not necessary!" Just then, they heard a soft rustling nearby, definitely Elven and not a forest beast or worse. Perhaps it was one of those notoriously mischievous Elf-children of Túgann's family sneaking up on them now. It would not have been the first time.

"Shhh!" their intruder whispered. "I don't think I was followed here, but I can never be certain." Túgann's sister parted the branches and settled down on the mossy tree-trunk between the two Elves with the self-assurance of certain welcome. Gellwen had the same laughing eyes and wide smile as her brother, but purely black hair. Raised in a family of beautiful women, where intelligence was prized above appearance, she had no air of female vanity about her.

Finally, after looking behind and around her while holding her finger to her lips, she seemed to accept that no sibling or neighbor had followed her on her short walk and addressed her brother: "You are so fortunate to be here tonight. The twins spilled honey on our father's writing table. Mother had warned father all day to clear it off 'before something is spoiled!' The poor wee creatures are yowling like scalded cats now, the girls are cowering in the back bedroom, mother is haranguing father, and father is raging at everyone and no one. So, I escaped."

These young people had known each other since early childhood. Although Gellwen had been often in his company, she did not recall having exchanged more than a few words with Legolas over those years. Both were aware of the other's interest, however. In Thranduil's kingdom, where the population of youngsters was proportionally greater than in any other Elven community, education was equally available to all Elven offspring, irrespective of background, birth or sex and no youth of similar age were strangers.

Legolas looked first at one and then the other of this good-natured, loquacious pair, thinking he would be willing to exert much effort to cultivate their friendship. He was pleased when he had recently been assigned regular patrol duties with Túgann. He presumed that the siblings, although known to be liberally friendly to all, had not sought many close friendships outside of their household, crowded as it was with an extended family young and old. Even among the Mirkwood Elven community, known to be more prolific than others, their family had continued to produce offspring with oft-noted regularity. He had heard his father express the opinion that it was a laudable optimism that incited their desire for children in these dark days. A fierce, stubborn love of Arda and the Great Forest united Thranduil's people. Many of the older Sindarin elements of Mirkwood, actually held themselves somewhat apart from Túgann and Gellwen's family, due to its Noldorin roots, suspecting an arrogance, which, in fact, had never been demonstrated. Ancient mistrust died hard among the elders, but the young were more aware of currently shared commitment and joys.

The boisterous turmoil punctuated by laughter that he heard whenever he walked past their dwelling, awakened in him a longing for close siblings and a more informal household. His father's house, the cavern fortress palace of the Elven King of Mirkwood, was far too somber—magnificent, but not homey. Spacious enough to hold the entire community during a state of siege, its stonewalls, gloomy to him despite carvings of nature and trees and bright sumptuous hangings, were an unnatural setting for any Elf. Legolas, in contrast to the exuberant Túgann, had been a thoughtful, shy Elf-child. A natural reticence, combined with his position as the youngest but only surviving son of King Thranduil, had meant he had found himself often on the fringes of the inspired silliness and mischievous play endemic among woodland Elf-children. As he had grown older he had excelled in military skills and become more articulate and less reserved. Those qualities along with his generous good nature and modesty had lately gained him a comfortable acceptance by his peers. He was no longer referred to as "the Prince," but simply "Legolas."

"Does mother know you left?" Túgann asked his sister.

"No, but I bribed the girls to say I am sleeping if she does come snooping about. But I do not want to talk of that madhouse right now. Is not the night lovely? How I wish it had been like this on Midsummer's Night. It was so muggy, hot and disgusting. And my first one on my own too! The sky was so overcast you could not even see the stars. How romantic! I might as well have been home playing nursemaid to the little ones."

At her reference to the festival night, Legolas recalled how he had managed only one dance with Gellwen. Hoping for a tender ballad and the chance to hold her in his arms, he was disappointed by one of those bouncing reels where he was only able to occasionally catch her hand for a few seconds. Worse still, although the tune was spirited, its verses were a mournful complaint harking back to lost times before those dreadful days of exile and death when the Silvan Elves fled north. How could he flirt with the pretty Gellwen when his eyes were drawn with concern to his father's face so saddened by the simple song? When he saw that single tear slide down the King's cheek?

_Oh, the days of the Greenwood dancing,  
Oh, the ring of the piper's tune,  
Oh, for one of those hours of gladness,  
Gone, alas, like our youth, too soon._

_Time goes on, and the happy years are dead  
And one by one the merry hearts are fled.  
Silent now is the wild and lonely glen,  
Where the bright glad laugh will echo ne'er again._

_Only dreaming of days gone by in my heart I hear  
Loving voices of lost companions  
Stealing out of the past once more  
And the sound of the dear old music  
Soft and sweet as in days of yore._

_When the Wood Elves began to gather  
In the glen of a summer's night  
And the Greenwood piper's tuning  
Made us long with wild delight!_

_Oh, to think of it,  
Oh, to dream of it,  
Fills my heart with tears!_

_Oh, the days of the Greenwood dancing  
Oh, the ring of the piper's tune . . ._

And he had watched older Elves (Greenwood survivors all) file by to console Thranduil--a touch on the shoulder by his Sindarin kin or a full body hug from the Silvan elders. They knew, as did Legolas, that Thranduil held himself responsible for every life lost. Though the Silvan Elves suffered grievous losses, Thranduil's companions of those days credited his leadership for their very survival and their growing population here in the North. Then, while Legolas still had his eyes fixed on the dais, the dance had ended and Gellwen had been quickly swept away by another partner.

The hearty voice of Túgann drew Legolas back from his reverie, saying, "Sister, I told you that if you smile, flutter your eyelashes and toss your hair, every unattached male will be aware of you. Although, you might consider not starting every conversation by reminding them that you are the better archer."

Legolas thought that, although the festival night was not what he or Gellwen had hoped, tonight might be a second chance for him. "Gellwen, even an admirer who is not threatened by your skills as an archer might find your beauty intimidating," he ventured with mock seriousness. "And your father is notoriously protective of his daughter. You were definitely an enchantress in your blue dress and long dark hair that night."

"Ah! Ha! Fond memories of raven tresses and a flowing blue gown! See, I told you that you were admired. I wager Legolas would be more than willing to give you your first kiss without delay. Would you not, comrade?"

Gellwen was near to tears or rage now and could barely choke out, "Stop it! You are humiliating me!" when Legolas took her hand softly in the dark.

Teasingly directing his comment at Túgann, Legolas said, "Pay no note of him, Gellwen, we can more comfortably discuss this matter another time without your brother's participation." All three laughed, his remark breaking the tension. But, unknown to Gellwen's brother, he did not release her hand.

The evening remained quiet. As the hours passed, they argued over versions of Elven lore and shared their stories of family foibles, with a seasoning of local gossip, laughing easily and often. Túgann mimicked more acquaintances. Gellwen occasionally corrected his choice of vocabulary, "for the sake of accuracy," she said, but never his tone. Even Legolas attempted a sober, but effective impersonation of his father sounding regal, which was met with good-natured, if impudent, howls.

Gellwen was pleased that she was able to speak and laugh naturally, as though nothing were different or extraordinary when, in fact, ever aware of Legolas' touch, there was a spectacularly riotous Midsummer Night's festival raging in her heart. For his part, Legolas was unable for a moment to forget her closeness, her beauty, the warmth and richness of her developing womanliness. Gellwen was convinced that her brother had no idea of the feelings stirring within her, which brought a crimson blush to her cheeks, opportunely unseen in the now near total darkness. She cherished the delicious bit of privacy the forest shadows gave her, as she recently had begun to think that Túgann knew far too much about her. There were disadvantages for an Elf maiden to have an older brother as one's closest friend and confidant.

It was near midnight, when they thought they heard a twig crack nearby. Because they had been laughing, they were uncertain of its origin. Their voices unconsciously lowered after that incident and the conversation drifted naturally to darker matters--the dangers to their hidden life, the ominous forces surrounding them and to what degree they could or should intervene to affect the outcome. Túgann took the somewhat isolationist defensive position, whereas Legolas favored looking outward, intervening to affect history. Legolas explained that he shared his father's sense of responsibility to protect "my people" (the term Thranduil always used to refer to the Silvan Elves of Mirkwood). Gellwen listened and then said she believed that the Mirkwood Elves could never accept that Sauron might be undefeatable and choose to blindly live out their last days hoping for peace before succumbing to destruction. "We will defend ourselves until the time for the final struggle. But, in this age, Elves must bring the wisdom gained in past struggles. It will be our duty to give our arms and lives to the coming war against Sauron. But never again will the victory be ours alone to win. We must be but one force amongst allies. This will be a different war. There will be no neutrals," she said. Both Legolas and Túgann contemplated Gellwen's words in silence.

Realizing how late it was she regretfully rose to go home. Legolas offered to walk with her and Túgann was easily persuaded to take the first watch. Legolas led Gellwen through the forest, gallantly holding branches and bushes aside and half-lifting her over every rock and gully, although both realized that she almost certainly knew the paths as well as he did. Much too quickly they covered the short distance to the moonlit clearing in the forest near the entrance to her family's dwellings, Gellwen turned to Legolas and said with a conspiratorial smile, "I'll walk from here alone. It would not be good for my parents to hear us, you know." She reached up to give him a farewell kiss on the cheek, when he placed his bow arm around her waist, pulled her closer to him and touched her cheek, turning her mouth to his. Kissing her gently he felt her respond, if tentatively. He released her and looked smiling into her eyes and asked, "May I give you a true kiss?" Up on her toes immediately, she placed her arms around his neck and said, "Yes, please."

When Legolas returned to their watch point in the woods, Túgann immediately demanded, "Well, tell me, did my sister finally get her first kiss?"

"She did, as you knew she would."

"I thought it would be so. You are a brave Elf. Many before you have been captivated by her, but afraid to dare a kiss."

"I had not the sense to be afraid," Legolas said with a humorless chuckle and an unfathomable sigh.

"Legolas Greenleaf son of Thranduil, tell me what happened. I know you are withholding something. You must tell me what. I trusted you with my sister, as my friend. What did you do?" Túgann demanded, with an undertow of fear seeping into his voice.

"No. No. Nothing happened. I kissed Gellwen as I have kissed many girls, but then…" Legolas paused drawing a deep breath, "I kissed her again just once, but everything transformed. It was surprising and wonderful, dreamlike. I spoke to her of love."

"Well, did she like it?" Túgann asked, relieved that Legolas' obvious apprehension was caused by what he interpreted as his more serious friend's exaggerated sensitivity to customs and mores.

Legolas softly answered, "Yes, she did."

_Above lyrics areofa traditional Irish folksong, with slight changes. It seemed to have been written for Mirkwood. Oh, those merry Wood Elves dancing in the shadow of past losses and almost certain doom._


	2. Legolas Ponders

2. Legolas Ponders 

_How could I speak to her brother of what I thought had happened, when I could only speculate myself? When I had not spoken to her parents or my father? I wished there was someone from whom I could seek advice. But, I truly did not know how to describe what had transpired when I kissed Gellwen._

_I tried to imagine asking my father but was repelled at how foolish and immature I would sound. "Excuse me, father, could you spare a moment from running this beleaguered kingdom so I can ask you about some peculiar feelings I had when I kissed a lovely Elf maid tonight?" No doubt I soon enough would be forced to do exactly that, but I wanted to try to understand this more clearly for myself before I did._

_I had ventured far more with other Elf-maidens with utterly pleasant, but inconsequential, results. Indeed, I had been curious as to what kind of response I would receive from such an appealing, intelligent and frankly sensual maid, but I did not intend to carelessly draw so irreversibly near to her. I respected her--in truth revered her--but she carried herself with such assurance, no giggling or pretended shyness, that I let down my guard. I convinced myself that her interest in me was based mainly upon curiosity and that the obsessive ruminating I usually did over any possible overture to her was unnecessary. Perhaps if I had not perceived her as the wiser of the two of us I would have been more careful. Had I deceived myself in my own selfish interest? She could not have known that I had long thought of her with hope and longing. Might not she have been more reticent if she knew of my infatuation with her?_

_That night, I only considered that Gellwen wanted to be kissed and, enthralled as I was by her loveliness, I was happy—no eager—to oblige her. I was thrilled when she had responded so fervently to our second kiss. But then everything changed. It was no longer merely a surely reckless but oft played game among woodland youth._

_Reality dimmed and I felt as though we were wholly transported into another realm, into a supreme state of ecstasy. Heart spoke to heart in the silence of the night. I sensed more than saw an explosion of cool silver light enveloping us that quickly turned golden and warm and seemed to intensify until I feared it would burn us, consume us. I could no longer feel my feet on the ground although I felt my fingers release my bow and my hand flatten, fingers spread, against Gellwen's back holding her closer to me. I was afraid that she might fade away, that perhaps this was only a dream or an hallucination. My body certainly responded predictably, but unpredictably intensely. I am certain she must have been aware of my obvious physical response. There had seemed no point in being regretful, though doubtless I should have been, as she was a maiden and so young (and her father in daily close counsel with mine). The corporeal element of it seemed the very least of it all at that moment. I vaguely futilely fought with little will for mastery of my heart if not my body. _

_Slowly I became conscious of an underdeveloped form of rational thought while we still drifted uncontained in a world I did not know. We were no longer separate but one entity inflamed with love. I felt I could see her although my eyes were closed. I again became conscious of her body pressed against mine. Her beauty at that moment was beyond belief. She shone with an unworldly radiance and, awed though I was by her, I felt I met her with a light of my own, no less brilliant. I was aware only of hope and fear this moment would never end._

_As we melded into a totality that encompassed only the two of us, I recall of no urgency to press for more physically than what we already shared. But, gently at first, and then suddenly, agonizingly, I became aware of our surroundings once more. When the first excruciating wrenching had passed, I caught the sweet warm scent of her and that of the giant tree at the edge of the clearing under which we stood. (Will I ever again smell a fir tree without trembling in memory of that euphoric moment?) I felt her hair, the texture of the fabric covering her back. Last of all I was aware of my own feet planted solidly on the loam covered earth. Her slender body leaned heavily into me demanding my physical support. Slowly we separated and I gazed into her eyes, shining darkly in the light of the moon._

Before she left him at the clearing, it had been Gellwen who had spoken first, "By all the Valar, Legolas, your beauty pierces my heart! I know you have kissed other maids. Tell me is it always like this?" He could not speak. Trying and at first failing, he finally managed to raggedly whisper, "No. Never like this."

"I knew it could not be so, but silly girl that I am, I had to ask." She took his face between her hands and said gently, "Oh, you should see your expression now. Please do not look so forlorn. Why should it frighten you that you are capable of a love so tender that at the slightest provocation it flamed forth with such ardor? I am happy. I wish you to be also, but I must go now."

He felt a panic rising in his chest, so much remained unsaid, not understood or even misunderstood, "Please, Gellwen, do not leave!" he said.

Looking up at him she turned slightly, her features fully illuminated by the moonlight. Smiling consolingly she said, "We will speak tomorrow. Come to my house. Dearest Legolas, I am no fool. I know that something happened though I am not sure what, but do not be troubled. We did nothing wrong."

Again Legolas spoke haltingly, at first, "Please wait," and then more desperately, grabbing her shoulders, "Gellwen, I should tell you, I must tell you that I treasure you beyond all else. Know I will never hurt you. I will love you and be faithful to you forever."

She answered swiftly, "Shhh…trust me; trust yourself. Do not use words like 'should.' What you are feeling now, I share. Know that nothing is immutable until and unless we both want it to be so. But it is also true that whatever we both desire will be so. My grandmother once called this the ultimate blessing and curse on the Eldar. Tomorrow, my love."

She reached up to touch his cheek lightly, and then brushed her fingertips over his lips consciously thrilling him once again. Turning suddenly, before he could respond or take hold of her, she ran toward her family's dwelling, where a door opened--a woman's form a black silhouette against the light of a smoking lamp behind her.

Gellwen's mother spoke quietly, her voice audible across the clearing in the stillness of the night. "Daughter, where have you been?" Her voice did not scold, but was filled with gentle concern. "Mama," Gellwen answered, her voice at once childlike, happy, comforted. Her mother pulled her into her arms and closed the door.

"Well, whatever you were doing certainly did not make you look remorseful."

"I walked into the forest and spent the evening talking with my brother and the Prince."

"And then?"

"Then Legolas walked me to the clearing. He kissed me, mama!"

"Your father will be delighted to know that," her mother said with mild irony.

"Oh, mama, it was so lovely."

"I am certain it was! I well remember my first kiss, although I was a good deal older than you. Enough of this for now. We will talk in the morning. To your room with you and quietly, please."


	3. Gellwen Rests

3. Gellwen Rests 

After leaving her mother, Gellwen climbed the wooden stairs leading to the loft bedroom she shared with her girl cousins. Assuming it would be a long sleepless night, she settled into the corner of the window seat, a pillow propped behind her and a thin blanket over her legs. She intently studied the stars, large and sparkling like clear and gentle eyes in the indigo sky stretching above the silver birches, as though all the answers she sought were written there. It was difficult for her to grasp how in the course of one woodland night they had moved from a shy ballet of understated flirtation to becoming lovers in every sense but the most primitive.

Gellwen thought of how, when he was but a skinny Elf-child, somewhat small for his age, she had loved him, at first simply because she thought he was beautiful. (Or perhaps because he was tranquil? The emotional intensity of a household of Elves, each with a notoriously strong fëa, could be wearying at times, even for an irrepressibly vital Elf-child like Gellwen.) To her childish eyes, Legolas had seemed to glow in the sunlight — golden and, oh, so bright! — and at dusk to reflect what remained of the sun around his head in a nimbus of pearly light.

He watched her as well, with serious wide eyes, while she clowned and flirted. Too well-schooled to speak to older boys directly, she used what methods she could to be noticed. Gellwen observed that he spoke little but thoughtfully during lessons. While she and her brother argued and challenged their teachers, he listened, waiting patiently for the end of a tale or explanation of a precept. Only then would he ask a question, usually an insightful one, not one of those questions that are a sign of careless reading (or much less the reckless passion to express every half-finished thought so common in her home).

Gellwen's grandmother had listened patiently to her confession of childish infatuation. "No. He is little different from you or your brother," she said, and then with a dry laugh, as though amused at a private joke, had added, "Oh, what I could tell you of radiant golden elves, some good and many exceedingly bad. But you are too young for most of those stories. The sunlight and moonlight may love his hair because it is such a bright color. Such an accident of birth is in no way the measure of an Elf. Even if you grow as fair as Luthien, my little one, that will not give you virtue or wisdom. Every Elf-child has the gift of luminous beauty and adults also, if I am to believe the opinion of other races."

Years later, only a few seasons ago, she had again consulted her grandmother explaining she still was fascinated with him and that he was highly regarded by others as well, hoping for her encouragement. That time her grandmother said, "No doubt Legolas Thranduilion carries much good and bad within him as we all do. He is innocent enough now. Perhaps he is a little more cautious than you and your siblings, so at times he may seem less foolish to you! But prudence can be a fault, my dear, just as your impulsiveness can be a virtue. I thank the Valar every day that I did not bind myself to my first love. What terrible suffering that would have brought my family! And, of course, then I would not have had your mother, your aunts, you or any of your cousins, nor spent all those blessed centuries with my dear husband."

Determined, Gellwen told her she was sure Legolas was a decent person. Gellwen guarded her observation that she had repeatedly sensed a surprisingly strange strength in him--astonishing enough that she chose not to speak of it, but consider privately what it might mean. Her grandmother had answered, "I do not doubt his goodness. But remember he is young and has made few choices in his life, which to this point has been simple. Watch and wait, my dear, if you must, but do nothing." She went on to explain that it was perilous for one to consider such attachments at an early age and that perhaps Gellwen listened too much to her older cousins talk nonsense about dances, pretty gowns and courtships. She cautioned her that impetuous choices could be tragically wrong and, for all the heart-wrenching songs and tales, real life tragedy is not romantic. Disquieted that Grandmamma, who had always seemed to know everything, had erred, had mistaken stillness for weakness, Gellwen pushed no further. Neither did she wish to hear more stories of family tragedy and misfortunes thousands of years past.

Gellwen had instead complained that she could not understand why her father guarded her with an energy that seemed incongruent with her by and large successful efforts to behave as her family wished. Truly she was not old enough for betrothal, much less bonding, but she felt she had been protected from even the most naive of flirtations. There had been no privacy for the lighthearted dalliances engaged in by virtually all but the most shy of other girls of similar age and background. There had been no stolen kisses or walks under the stars. Gellwen had pouted saying that one would have thought she was being raised in the midst of barbarians rather than a secluded Elven community where the age and lineage of her family would grant her respect. Her grandmother only shook her head sadly and said, "Your family has suffered many things, fomented by passion and excessive self confidence, that they would prefer not to see repeated, cherished one."

It was not long after that conversation that her grandmother announced to the family that she had grown weary and longed for her grandfather, and left to go West. She told them that she had waited to help her daughters with their families, especially during those years following the loss of so many husbands and brothers, but that she was satisfied she had done her duty and now it was her time to look to herself.

Drawing her knees to her chest as she sat in the window seat, Gellwen thought, "How I wish my grandmother were here with me now to answer my new questions. Did I push Legolas across some line or did he pull me? I wanted his kisses and caresses, but I had not intended to steal his soul, or perhaps unknowingly I did. I know nothing now except that it is too late for caution."

Feeling remote and in need of reassurance, she wondered if she could reach him now. She had heard it could be done. Gellwen strained to focus, to find him. There was no touch, but utter emptiness and the silence of the stars broken only by the whispering of the trees. Finally defeated, she stopped. "How silly!" she thought cynically. She relaxed and let her mind drift, and then, she felt him. He loved her, with an ardent tenderness she now recognized. She responded with a fierce flash of hope, with it arose her joyous longing for him, reaching him in the forest where he watched while, heedless, her brother slept nearby. Unaccustomed to such power, he reflexively hit her back with an ecstatic blow that took her breath away. In the enchantment of this first touch from a distance, Legolas found solace and Gellwen, reassured, drifted into restful unconsciousness.

Rather than suffering an extended and fretful night, Gellwen had awakened refreshed to the homely clatter of cups and pans and the voices of her parents conversing softly in quiet contentment. They stirred themselves before the rest of their household to gain an island of peace for themselves at the start of each day. She caught her name mentioned in melodious ancient Quenya, which Cálale and Aranwë occasionally used when they wished for confidentiality, accustomed as they were to being surrounded by inquisitive Elf-children.

The older children did understand and even speak Quenya. Their grandmother had frequently spoken it, her first tongue. It had remained for her, despite the passage of millenniums, the language of home and family. But even the most fluent speakers of the older youngsters could not follow an overheard conversation without concentration and never, from a distance, so muted an exchange as the one in the kitchen that bright morning. Gellwen thought, "_I do not even want try to listen._" For the moment, she was at peace. She was satisfied that, although her parents were speaking of her, they did not sound agitated by her late return of the previous night. She was willing to wait for the lecture that she doubtless would receive later.


	4. All in the Family

**4. All in the Family**

Cálale and Aranwë looked out into the splendid summer morning sunshine from their kitchen window, cups of steaming tea in hand. It promised to be another blessedly clear, dry day. They watched as Túgann and Legolas emerged from the forest and hesitated at the edge of the clearing. Legolas began speaking and nodded toward the family compound.

"It appears that young Legolas, true to his warrior blood and idealistic sense of honor, intends to march right up here and bravely confess his indiscretions to the father of the compromised maiden," Aranwë said with a hint of good-natured cynicism.

Meanwhile, Túgann commenced speaking rapidly and gesturing forcefully in the direction of Thranduil's palace.

Cálale laughed, taking his arm, "No doubt that was his desire, my dear husband, but your son, true to his inherited love of comfort and sophisticated sense of opportunity, will temporarily thwart his friend's virtuous intent by insisting on a soak in the King's luxurious baths rather than settling for our more rustic accommodations."

"You are right as usual, regarding the result at least, but Túgann's reasoning will be that his father will be unnecessarily provoked if his precious time alone with his lady love is curtailed by the untimely appearance of two unwashed youth," he said pulling her into his arms and kissing her.

"You never seem to grow too old for that, do you?" she murmured.

"I hope I never do," Aranwë whispered into her hair.

At that moment, Poicellë entered the kitchen and found them in each other's arms, reminding her of the first time she had walked in on her younger sister and her handsome lover in this position hundreds of years earlier. Some short decades ago the sight would have wounded her deeply, so grief stricken had she been over the loss of her husband. But she was more accepting now of the happiness of others and her mind filled with thoughts of her own dilemma of dealing with her daughter.

"It is later than you two lovebirds think. You will have no more peace in this part of the house today. The twins have already started wrestling and will be down here begging for food any minute," she said, her voice echoing her inextinguishably happy temperament, enduring despite whatever tragic mishaps her fate would bring her. "I am sorry if the laughing and singing of your nieces and their admirers interrupted your rest again last night. It certainly disturbed mine. But, Callë and I had a long talk and we think we have arrived at a solution. Has this tea been sitting here long?"

Regretfully pulling herself away from her husband, Cálale responded, "It is not so old. Have a small cup now and I will brew a new pot. We were too worried about Gellwen's disappearance to be annoyed with Pityë and Laitaine's singing Silvan swains last night. I would have been happy to have heard her giggling along with the rest them, at least then I would have know where she was."

"Gellwen? Oh, no! So, it begins for you! Well, did you find her?"

"About the time Aranwë was ready go out and hunt her down, I came downstairs for a glass of water and looked out of the window here and saw her at the edge of the forest locked in an interminable, exceedingly adult embrace with Legolas Thranduilion."

"Ha!" Poicellë squealed, laughing and clapping her hands. "I am sorry, Cálale, but it is too funny! Even as Callë and I were absorbed by what to do about our light-minded daughters, and what poor mothers the two of you must think we are, so little control do we have over them, your good little Gellwen is making passionate love outside of our very window. Still waters run deep!"

The oldest of Cálale's sisters, Callë, with her loosened hair and a rosy glow, looking not much older than the Elf-girls they had been discussing, entered the room with a grumpy scowl.

"Well, what do the three of you have to be so happy today?"

At that the others did break into full-out laughter.

Aranwë interjected, "If you want my opinion--which would be novel--I think what we have here among our daughters is a combination of Noldor headstrongness and highly-evolved Silvan fecklessness."

Callë, feeling at a disadvantage, asked with irritation, "What are the 'still waters' you were talking about?"

Poicellë and Cálale responded promptly in unison, "Legolas!" while Aranwë simultaneously said, "Gellwen!"

Even Callë was forced to laugh at that, "Men! Papa's darling girl! Gellwen could arguably be described as 'deep,' but since she has not recently spit in his eye, her Daddy perceives her as 'still.' That is priceless… Why is there _never_ any tea left when I come down? I need tea before I am going to be able to grasp the remotest idea of what the three of you have been talking about?"

Cálale, ever practical, and realizing that the twins, Erulehto and Yulion, could appear any moment demanding bread and jam, knocking into chairs and trodding on their aunts' gowns, reverted to soft, hurried Quenya and told the story of Gellwen returning besotted after her evening in the forest with Legolas and her brother.

Callë interrupted, "And where was Túgann while all of this was going on? Holding their clothing for them?"

"There is no need to be vulgar, sister. It was her first kiss!" Poicellë answered.

"Of course, you are right. I should not be so coarse. Perhaps I am a little jealous of her. She has given herself at least a thousand-year advantage over what I had, determined as I was to wait for the exact right time. And here I am left alone with the silliest daughter in Middle-earth."

"One of the silliest," Poicellë reminded her.

"Oh, sister, I am so selfish! What would I have done in those dark days without you and Mama. You were so brave," Callë answered.

"We had not much choice with two little girls to care for."

Cálale, not insensitive to her sisters, was nonetheless determined to press their narrow advantage of time, and demanded to know what was the solution her sisters had come upon to their frantic concerns for their daughters, who, far from jumping too quickly into thoughts of true love, seemed quite satisfied to be trailed after by a veritable crowd of merry Silvan suitors.

"It is nothing short of brilliant," Poicellë said. "We are going to pack the country cousins off to Lothlòrien and the Lady Galadriel for an extended visit. How I would love to see them try some of their nonsense under her imperious eye."

This proposal was greeted howls of laughter by all. There would be no lack of young amorous wood elves in Lothlorien, but the picture of Galadriel's reaction if she were to find her young kinswomen cavorting with them with the total lack of discretion that Pityë and Laitaine had shown lately in Mirkwood, struck them as unbearably humorous. All four of the adults were still laughing heartily, when the twins come tumbling down the staircase.

"Please, excuse me, ladies. I will leave the Elf-children in your competent hands today," Aranwë said. "I would like to get a little work done before I have to deal with the young lovers."


	5. At the Baths

5. At The Baths 

Túgann and Legolas walked across the clearing, not in the direction of the cluster of rustic buildings belonging to Túgann's family, but diagonally towards the nearby entrance to the royal caverns.

Once they had entered through the main door into the caverns, they walked through the long tunnels until turning into the large open chamber which housed the baths. Its surrounding pillars were hewn out of the living stone and embellished with carvings. Some of the pillars were covered with vigorous patterns of rustic simplicity, while others with a swirling, intricate mass of vines, flowers and leaves, that resembled more the works of aesthetic passion which might be seen in jewelry of the classic Noldor mode. The latter were the work of Aranwë and not dissimilar in style from the finer and more delicate woodcarvings that covered balustrades and furniture throughout his family compound. Aranwë had worked in metal in ages past, but now preferred wood, working in stone only at his King's request.

The marvel of the baths themselves was the ingenious simplicity of their construction. The two large pools, one hot and one cold, were filled and kept clean with little Elven intervention. A small Elven-constructed offshoot from the mighty Forest River entered one end of the cold pool and flowed out the other end by force of gravity alone, insuring the water was always clean and fresh. The hot pool was fed by a natural underground spring, discovered when the Elves were digging the original foundation for the baths. The temperature was kept quite comfortable there by directing a small flow of the fresh river water through the hot pool.

The palace baths were open to the entire community in the early evening, and from dawn to late night on festival days, after athletic events, and on what seemed to be a myriad of other occasions added to with regularity by the imaginative Silvan community. The King's retainers who work in the bath area are fond of noting with pretended chagrin, but actual pride in the generosity of their Lord and the ingenuity of Silvan Elves, that the numbers of the community with open access to the baths seemed to grow exponentially year by year: those with old war wounds, expecting mothers, pedagogues and their students, the list went on and on. On this morning, however, the baths seemed deserted, with the exception being Thranduil himself, who rested facedown on a massage table in one of the semi-private rooms along the periphery of the hall.

Seeing his father, Legolas turned to his companion and said, "Go ahead to the pool without me. I will join you. I should speak with my father."

At the same moment, Thranduil noticed the arrival of the two Elves and smiled his greeting to his son. His good-humored gaze revealed his pleasure in his son's unexpected appearance.

"Father, I would ask a moment of your time."

Thranduil quickly sat up and responded easily, "Would you have me join you and your comrade in the waters, or do you wish to speak to me alone?"

Legolas guessed that his father's satisfaction at his request for his company would fade soon enough. He was uncertain of the reason for his foreboding, but the affectionate expression on his father's face turned penetrating, as though he too guessed their discussion would not be an easy one. There was no specific reason Legolas knew of that the topic of his developing relationship with Gellwen would cause any serious conflict between himself and his father. No word ever spoken by his father gave him cause to suspect that he would disapprove in principle of consideration of a betrothal with her. In fact, Thranduil had never spoken of betrothal to him, nor ever indicated the subject was of particular interest or importance to him.

_That is it_, Legolas thought. _There was no consideration or discussion. I jumped into deep waters and dragged Gellwen with me without the slightest attempt to speak to either her family or mine. It will get no easier for me to speak if I stand here longer._

"Father, I do not know if I am asking your advice or reporting an accomplished fact," he began, locking eyes with his father, though it took some considerable amount of courage to do so. It seemed a point of personal pride that he should not lower his head, and it eased his heart to make that contact whatever the result might be. Thranduil no longer looked happy as he met his son's stare, but his eyes softened as Legolas raised his jaw in a nearly imperceptible movement. He waited for him to continue.

Legolas drew a deep breath. "Father, I spoke of love to Gellwen, daughter of Aranwë, last night. Something passed between us that I did not fully understand, but I know I love her and that she loves me."

Thranduil's face grew stern as he focused more intently. "I read in your eyes that you went far beyond what I would have expected of you with any Elleth of her age, much less the daughter of my friend and counselor. What is this feigned innocence? You have spent too much time in warriors' barracks to pretend you have heard nothing of the physical act of love. You have bonded with this maiden."

"Father, you are wrong. There is no pretense on my part when I say that I do not fully understand what happened. There was more and less to it than the physical act of coupling," Legolas said, surprising himself that, far from feeling embarrassed as he feared he would be, he was irritated with Thranduil for falling so far off target and with such apparent assurance, and showed his annoyance with his father in his voice and demeanor. "I but held her in my arms and kissed her. Our consciousness and hearts did meet as one at that moment and since then we have touched mind to mind from a distance." More surprising to Legolas than his reaction to his father, was his father's response to him.

"Please accept my apologies, my son. Perhaps I am the one who has listened to far too many barracks' discussions of that which young warriors may believe is love. What you describe is, in fact, not part of my experience. There are many forms of bonding and I do not presume to understand them all. At the risk of being unintentionally offensive again, I would know if you pledged yourself to Gellwen and, if so, what was her response."

"I tried, but she did not wish to speak of it further last night, although she made it clear my protestations of love and offer of betrothal were not unwelcome."

At that Thranduil stood and embraced his son. "So, let us follow her wise counsel, son, and wait before speaking of this more. I have a long day before me and you need to bathe and sleep. Go join your friend. Aranwë's daughter is truly lovely and well born, perhaps too well born for my tastes, but it appears it is not my taste that will win out is it?"

Meanwhile, Túgann relaxed in the nearby hot pool.

_Since it is quite unheard of to have two births as close together as Gellwen and I, and then follow that with twins, the rumormongers questioned our family's Elven bloodline afterwards. "They breed like mortals," the gossips say. When such comments are reported to my father, he only laughs and says, "Apparently they forget the strength of fëa in your mother's family," making it sound less like a virtue than a fault. He loves to tease Mama and she always makes it worth his effort._

_I remember Gellwen and Legolas together when we were Elf-children. It was during that period when she thought boys were rough and dirty and other girls were silly and dull. She chose, however, to run around after us boys. While we teased her for being little, she was quick to call us stupid. On those rare occasions when Legolas played with us, he would slow if she fell behind, removing countless imaginary pebbles from his shoes. He would gaze at her as though she were made of fresh strawberries covered with sweetened cream._

_When she was still tiny, I once heard her ask my mother, "Does he not look like a High Elf from a dream or a tale?" My father was there also and answered, "Prince Legolas, son of Thranduil? He is a handsome Elf-child and intelligent too. I am sure you will know him well enough when you are both grown."_

_I was jealous. Gellwen was my best friend and constant comrade; my cousins were too much older to be true companions and the twins were still babies. I thought that she need not look to any puny princeling for friendship; she had me, her older brother. She was clever and cheerful. She laughed at my pranks and always defended me, physically when necessary. I can still see her as a small Elf-girl with coal black hair and a big voice, standing feet apart with her fists upon her hips, threatening an annoying playmate: "If you want to fight Túgann, you will have to take me on as well." Now I think differently. Instead of one sister, I may soon have two formidable warriors at my back._


	6. Lark in the Morning

6. Lark in the Morning 

The squealing of the twins, first in their nursery and then on the staircase, the laughter of the adults drifting up from the kitchen, and the clear sunlight and wholesome air entering through her window, but, most of all, the heartbreakingly beautiful song of a lark, finally made it impossible for Gellwen to remain in quiet thought a moment longer. Unexpectedly, as she broke from her reverie, her eyes spilled over in tears that betrayed feelings both of great joy and profound sadness. _Will there ever again be another morning like this one?_

Then she recalled that, from her position at the window, she had earlier seen Legolas and her brother heading for what she guessed were the royal baths. Shifting swiftly from high emotion to the mundane, as only the very young are able, she realized that she wanted to quickly wash up and to change her clothes before they returned, as she was certain they would not be long. It surely would not do to meet one's newfound love in last night's rumpled dress.

Gellwen folded her coverlet and grabbed the pillow she had used, pushing them into the storage area under the window seat, and turned to see that her cousins were stirring as well. Moved by their fair forms and faces, she remembered how, as a child, she had imagined composing fantastic tales and poems in which they would feature grandly. Seeing Pityë and Laitaine as they were on this fine morning, and hearing the lark's lovely song, brought back the memory of one of the possible opening lines she had considered as an Elf-child: _The two lazy princesses stretched and yawned as they awakened to the song of a lark, unaware of their dangerous beauty…_

_Maybe I will still write that story. But, if I do, it will likely be more a cautionary tale than the silly romance I once considered. I am less inclined to sing of them than I was before I knew all of their mysteries and secrets, although now I surely love them more. They are too young to have such sad eyes and it is doubly heart wrenching that even our own parents read them so shallowly. It pains me that they are afraid to love; doubtless because they fear its loss. One _**_must_**_ hold onto hope, especially in these terrible days. Life is not meant to be an endless spiral downward, but a series of highs and lows, moving toward hope in the future. Surely the beauty and valor of our Woodland kin has been spent for some purpose over these past ages._

Suddenly, with boisterous cheerfulness, her cousins sprang into movement in the direction of Gellwen, grabbing her about the waist and kissing her on the cheeks. "Gellwen has a story, and I will hear it now!" Pityë chanted at her in the childish singsong of once shared Elf-girl games.

"Oh, pretty cousin, your cheeks grow so pink and you are reluctant to look into my eyes!" Laitaine said. "This is too delicious. Has she been poaching in the forest, chasing the King's pet deer? Or perchance she was hunting bigger game last night?"

Gellwen could not but join in their laughter, pushing them both away from her while struggling to free herself from their grasping hands. "Let me go! You are crushing me. I can barely breathe. Leave go of me and I will tell you."

Pityë and Laitaine released Gellwen so suddenly that she nearly lost her balance and seated themselves side by side on foot of their bed, for the moment looking more like twins than cousins, with their nearly identical silver gray eyes and shining sable hair, hands now folded primly in their laps. "Go on. Tell all. We will sit here quietly," Laitaine pronounced carefully, her merry eyes giving lie to her solemn tone.

"There is not much to the telling. Legolas Thranduilion kissed me last night and said that he loves me, and I know for certain it is true, and know I love him too, so very much. It was thrilling and magical and I could scarcely catch my breath, even after he took his lips away from mine. I do not know what more to say."

"Oh, I am convinced there is more. For example, did he hold you tightly and press his body against yours?" Pityë asked. Gellwen blushed strongly and opened her mouth to speak, but Laitaine interrupted her to continue without pity. "And did you feel him growing hard against you?"

"Stop it. Stop it," Gellwen squealed. "It is not seemly to speak of such private things with others."

"Too late. You have already given yourself away," laughed Pityë pulling Gellwen onto the bed with them. And the three of them rolled on the bed hugging one another and giggling. "But there _was_ so much more to it than that," Gellwen still affronted stammered, "I mean not physically, but..." More peals of Elven laughter, "You two are truly wicked! Do you know so much because you have experienced this? Or only because you have heard of it?"

Pityë rose to a sitting position with little difficulty despite the still bouncing bed and, crossing her arms across her chest and pursing her lips in a pretense of prudishness, said, "Dearest cousin, it would not be seemly of me to speak of such private things." More giggles and the probability of further suggestive remarks from the elder cousins were interrupted by Cálale's appearance in the doorway.

"Gellwen, will you come downstairs with me, please? Your father and I would like to speak with you."

"Oh, mama, of course," Gellwen said, trying, without a great success and little grace, to extricate herself from the tangled bedclothes and deep mattress, "I would bathe and change my gown first, if I may."

"Yes, but hurry along, your father is expecting a visitor shortly," her mother answered, arching an eyebrow tellingly.

For a few moments after Cálale left there was silence in the room and then the laughing began again, softly at first.

Finally, fresh and, she assured herself, reasonably appealing at least, Gellwen entered her father's workshop. Cálale was leaning over some sketches that Aranwë had arranged on the table in front of them as he pointed out details of the work to her.

Her father, with his characteristic directness, immediately addressed Gellwen. "Would you please tell us exactly what went on with you and Legolas last night before the lad returns and asks to speak to me about it. I would much prefer to hear it from you first."

Gellwen began falteringly, "Well, as I told mother, we kissed. That lasted for quite some time, actually. Then, finally it stopped. I mean we stopped, the kissing, that is. Then gradually all of other feelings faded too, well, not entirely, but until things around us began to appear somewhat natural again," and then, aware that she was remarkably inarticulate, stopped embarrassed. "I am sorry, father, but what is it that you would know?"

"Gellwen, we do not mean to be intrusive, nor are we simply meddlesome or curious for our own entertainment like your naughty cousins," her mother interjected. "Your father and I observe in your gaze that same fire which when seen sparkling in new lovers' eyes reveals that bonding has occurred. We simply want to know how much you have given and promised to one another, for there are many levels of bonding."

Her father gently took her hands and added, "I will be direct with you, my little one. I suspect you have little enough experience at shielding your thoughts from others, so that I could almost certainly discover everything I wished to know without you telling me. But, I would consider that a presumptuous violation of your privacy. We simply want to know if you have pledged yourself to Legolas and mated with him for life."

"Mama, papa, I know little of soul bonding, but I know we can touch one another over a distance. We did not complete the physical act of love, although I know we both desire it. Legolas tried to pledge his troth to me and I interrupted him. I assured him that I loved him as much as he loves me. But, I did want to speak with you," Gellwen managed to say before two shiny tears rolled down her cheeks.

Cálale moved to enfold her tall daughter in her arms, "There, there, my daughter, your father and I long ago agreed that we would not try to unduly influence any of our children in these matters. We asked no one's by-your-leave ourselves, as you can well imagine."

"In most cases, I would venture that the same is true of Thranduil and have no doubt that he would happily dance at the wedding of his son to the lowliest Silvan Elf-maiden of his choice, but his relationship to our family has ever been more of chilly respect at best," Aranwë said.

Gellwen pulled free of her mother's embrace and, squaring her shoulders, replied, "So, we now finally come to the part of the discussion where I hear, one more time, the sordid history of certain fallen High-Elves, long-departed from these shores, despite the lack of a convincing explanation of how those acts are related to any deed committed by me or my family." Seeing that her father intended to speak, she placed her light fingers on his lips and gulped, "…and of how there are some among us, whose judgment, as far as I can see, has not always been impeccable, nor hands so free of stain, who desire to keep their distance from our family. And, further, I will be told," she gasped again for air, "...that our own pride and sense of family loyalty should forestall any attempt on my part, or that of my brothers or cousins, to close that gap."

Turning her head sharply and looking out of the window, Gellwen saw her brother and his friend nearing the house. "How fortunate. Here approaches Legolas now. If he wishes to speak with you, as you believe he does, this should be the perfect opportunity for the two of you to improve his understanding of the history of the Eldar, lest in his upbringing he somehow missed the full counterpart to this lecture." With that she flounced from the room.

Turning to his wife, Aranwë said, "That did not go as well as I had hoped."


	7. Families Come Together

**Youth in the Kitchen**

The noise level in the rustic kitchen had risen to a new peak for that summer season. Three Elf-maidens in a not uncharacteristic state of high excitement attempted to cook a simple family lunch, while two self-assured young warriors watched languidly, and twin manic Elf-children, jumping from stools and diving among the older Elves' legs, vied for attention.

"After speaking with my father, I was much less anxious when talking to your parents," Legolas said.

"It seems your conversation went far better than mine. Thank Eru, I did not have to go to Thranduil and declare my love for you. I could have ended up banished from Mirkwood, if such loss of self-control with which I confronted mother and father is any indication of how I might have managed it," Gellwen replied acerbically.

"Do not torture yourself, Gellwen, even the choice of which vegetable for lunch can degenerate into a squabble in this madhouse," drawled Túgann, with a pointed look at his oldest cousin. "Be happy. There are still a few advantages to being born female, even here in Mirkwood."

"And, most importantly, Uncle Aranwë did not hold your bad temper against Legolas, did he? Here you are together," Laitaine said, with a flourish of her hand as though to indicate the humble kitchen was the equal of the gilded palaces of Gondolin. Then turning and grinning flirtatiously at Legolas, she said, "I think she needs a kiss to cheer her up."

Refusing to be embarrassed by Laitaine's teasing, Legolas pulled Gellwen into his arms, trapping her hands, which dripped water from peeling vegetables, and held a tiny paring knife, against his chest, and grazed her lips with an apparently innocent kiss. His eyes, however, caught and held hers with a gaze that was anything but chaste.

"At least, I hope uncle did not give you the kinslaying lecture," said Pityë.

Ignoring a sharp intake of breath on the part of Túgann and a choking cough by Laitaine, Legolas answered mildly, "Oh, he did, but I told him that she does not frighten me." Taking the paring knife from Gellwen's hand, he deliberately placed it on the table and, grinning, pushed it out of her reach.

Túgann flabbergasted exclaimed, "Legolas, tell me you are jesting."

"Of course I am," Legolas answered with a wink, pulling Gellwen closer, "but he did mention that Curufinwë Fëanáro had courted your grandmother. Said I should know of this family's past associations."

"Feänor courted our grandmother?" gasped Laitaine.

"I knew that," Gellwen said dismissively, "Grandmamma told me. It was part of her do-not-marry-the-first-Elf-you-kiss lecture."

Túgann smiled bitterly at Legolas, "And you are still sure you want to be involved with this notorious lot?"

Legolas arms suddenly tightened around Gellwen squeezing her until she nearly winced; but, instead of pulling away, she untangled her arms to wrap them around his back and pull him more securely against her.

Legolas, suddenly stern, quietly intimidating, said, "There are no kinslayers in Mirkwood. Our parents and grandparents all came from Doriath to build together this free realm in Greenwood the Great. Despite what any embittered old Elves may think, there are no Sindar, Noldor or Teleri here either. We are all Silvan Elves in Mirkwood, who have fought and died in numbers too horrible to contemplate, together holding back the darkness of evil through many long years. Now, as the shadow moves ever northward, we will stand as one, ready to fight, for divided we will fall."

"I want to be an _Yrch_ slayer!" Erulehto squealed jumping up and down. "Me too! Me too!" yelled Yulion. Túgann pulled his two brothers off the floor, held them in his arms, burrowing his head against their tiny chests, hiding eyes that had unpredictably filled, and said sadly, "You will be, little brothers. You surely will be."

**Fathers Stroll in the Sunlight**

The council meeting had been brief, the same issue, and the same resolution: many more and younger archers must be sent into the dark parts of the forest. Although such unpleasant choices were no longer unexpected, they always tasted bitter. There was no dissent, no argument, and no need for counting of votes. King Thranduil could not quit the conference chamber fast enough. Eager to seize the rare unscheduled moment in his workday, he exited the shadowy tunnels, craving full sunlight. _At least that holds, for the moment._ Just then he caught sight of Aranwë, who had also been present at the meeting, passing out of great gates of the fortress caverns and striding in the direction of his own family compound.

"Aranwë, wait up. May I walk with you? I have wanted to consult with you, but hoped to meet you by chance. To make an appointment would lend a formality to the matter that I wish to avoid for the present."

"Ah, this must concern the rather stiff and formal discussion that your son initiated with me two days ago." Aranwë said, with a melancholy smile at his memory of the expression of love and turmoil that he had seen in the eyes of Prince Legolas, which reflected the purity of his young spirit, untroubled as yet by the heartbreak of betrayal or denial of choice.

"Exactly. Please do not mistake what I am about to say. You know I appreciate your family's loyalty and contribution to the survival and defense of our Woodland home, but I must admit that I am somewhat fearful that my quiet son should be love-struck with such a forceful maid of the Noldor as is the youngest daughter of your house."

"No insult is taken, my Lord," Aranwë laughed softly, "her mother and I once feared her _fëa_ stronger than that of all three of our sons combined. We learned with time that, while it still could be true, her passion burns most strongly in loyalty to our community of the Great Forest and not towards any personal interest."

"You know your daughter. I do not. But I know my son. And they are both still youth. He promises to be a strong warrior, a leader of Elves and defender of this realm, but his greatest strength lies in his sense of duty and I would not have him distracted by the passions that come with loving too young," Thranduil replied sternly.

Aranwë, clearly less worried than Thranduil, laughed again and said, "It sounds as though you perhaps know something of loving too passionately and too young?"

"That I do, my friend, that I do. Personally, I loved early and hard. But I, at least, did not reside alone longer than I lived with the mother of my children. I learned more than I ever wanted to know of the cost of losing love too young from the suffering of my people. I survived and endured, as you did, while barely a third of our young warriors returned from great battles of the past and am forced to watch now as youth in their full radiance are picked off one by one by Yrchs and other dark creatures. Too many of our community have struggled against fading after the loss of loved ones, while family responsibilities here kept them from sailing to the West and solace. Your wife's sisters are an example, and their mother, who held her head high past all expectations of endurance, like the doughtiest of old soldiers."

"Do not be so gloomy, my Lord. Would you have chosen that our valiant young warriors had never know what it is to love and be loved here in Arda and had passed on leaving only maidens behind them and no offspring? Although, I sympathize with your anxiety about having no choice in the matter of the betrothal of your remaining son, we must remember we are not breeding horses here, or even heirs to the kingdoms of mortal men. The mating of our Woodland youth is more their own concern than ours is it not?"

Thranduil sighed deeply, "Aye, you may have a point my friend. And, perhaps it is the expectation of death that leads our Woodland youth to wish to bond so early. In this world of constant sorrow, they may be wise to seek joy when and where they may find it."

"Until recently we yearned for a somewhat older spouse for our daughter, or at least a delay in the time of her bonding. Now, she has chosen someone who could scarce be younger and she does insist on her following her own path. Come, my Lord, share our midday meal where you can observe them both." Aranwë sighed, "It has been some days now since we have gathered as a family without the presence of your son. I think if you see them together you might believe he is made of less yielding stuff than you may have thought."

This time it was Thranduil's turn to laugh, "I wondered where the young rascal was keeping himself. I did not think he would be invited so often to your home. But to hear you speak of it, I now doubt that he has waited for an invitation. Apparently, he is bolder than I had thought."

"He has never been unwelcome. The children set an extra plate without asking now," Aranwë chuckled.

Shrugging as though deeply pained, but with the laughing azure eyes that had charmed his Woodland folk for ages, he said, "Yet, the thought makes me tremble; I have scarcely recovered from the last time I dined with you and your clan and that was some time past!"

"I promise, my lord, it may be slightly less chaotic today. The children are all grown now, except my youngest sons, who, if we have any luck, could be napping." Aranwë smiled, squinting in the bright sunlight. _That went better than I had feared._


	8. She Will Not Say Me Nay

_I shall tell her all my love,__  
__All my soul's adoration,__  
__And I think she will hear__  
__And will not say me nay.__  
_  
–traditional Irish Folksong

The summer sped by, but the cherished lightness of the halcyon days of the early courtship of Legolas and Gellwen did not last. It was now autumn and yet the days dragged by hot and humid. Skies of a pale evil-colored gray accompanied the sultry weather. Orkish incursions into the territory guarded from the besieged enclave increased in number, size and brutality. The increasing burden of their duties sat more lightly upon the fair and splendid youth of the houses of Thranduil and Aranwë than they might have expected.

The parents, Thranduil included, sighed with pained compassion for the younger Elves and oft repeated, "they know naught else," referring less to the renewed hardships and dangers in the Woodland that the youth willingly endured, but more to the fact that their offspring had experienced only life in Mirkwood and not the once-bright forest of Greenwood the Great. If the youth harbored any sense of wistful nostalgia for a world inexorably slipping away, they refused to exhibit it on the surface.

Túgann had mended from an ugly and festering flesh wound to his shoulder, suffered in his first major skirmish, which Laitaine had tended with heretofore-unnoted skill and tenderness. Her principle accomplishments, not so long ago, according to family lore, had been dancing and the ability to sleep very little. Túgann grew more tolerant of both of his older cousins. Legolas, the surest archer of all of Mirkwood, coached Túgann as he worked to regain his full range of movement. Pityë's previously insistent teasing and flirting had abated somewhat as she apparently gained increasing esteem for the courage with which her simple, honest Woodland suitors faced regular threats of death or potentially maiming injuries.

Yet while her cousins seemed to soften, Gellwen had acquired a fierce brittle brightness that oft unsettled her parents. She had lost her previous childlike innocence, but none of her frenetic energy, and now only seemed truly relaxed in Legolas' presence or when caring for her rambunctious twin brothers. Her mother guessed the cause, but felt a perplexing reluctance to approach her daughter on the subject. The fathers, less perceptive, were relieved that were no further discussions regarding the consummation of Gellwen and Legolas' implicit betrothal.

In light of all these subtle shifts, the older generation had not the heart to place limitations on the younger one's revels. The volume of the uncurtailed nightly gatherings in front of Aranwë's homestead rose and fell dependent solely upon the number of Silvan warriors who were at leave to participate. The older Elves claimed with relief that the now regular involvement of Túgann, Legolas and Gellwen had raised to some extent the quality of the songs chosen, if not the singing itself. No one had ever faulted the clear voices and innate musical abilities of the impromptu Silvan chorus. Nevertheless, it was easier to drift into much needed sleep to the enchantment of soft, lyrical renderings of the Lay of Nimrodel or a hymn to Elbereth than it had been to the relentlessly lively Woodland airs of months past.

Poicellë and Callë continued their preparations for the planned trip to Lothlorien with their daughters, although the original urgency to be off had abated. Darker threats and notably improved behavior on the part of the cousins had turned what had once seemed a punitive necessity into a welcome, if long overdue, visit to kinsmen.

After a long, hot morning of archery practice, Túgann and Legolas walked toward the cluster of wooden buildings to find the three Elf-lasses trying to amuse Erulehto and Yulion on the lawn. A reddish flush that was distinctly unnatural-looking in young Elves suffused the twins' cheeks and their aggressive expressions indicated that childish tempers had indeed grown short. Erulehto made a wide arc with his foot and, narrowly missing Yulion, his intended victim, struck Pityë in shin.

Hopping on one foot and waving to Túgann and Legolas, Pityë shouted, "Help! Three ladies in distress."

Upon reaching the group, Túgann dived and tackled the twins by the waists, pulling them down into the yellowing grass, which erupted in a cloud of dust and gnats. "Should you not to be protecting our home, not assaulting our family?" he joked. Instead of laughing, the unflappably good-natured Erulehto began to whimper. Only marginally more composed, Yulion jutted out his small chin and protectively announced, "He is extremely hot. He itches."

Legolas, sensing imminent crisis, reached down, took Gellwen's hands and pulled her upright from her seated position on the grass, "Come then! We must take them to the creek to swim."

Laitaine, clearly an Elf-maid in the habit of running, jumped up and headed toward the kitchen door, calling behind her, "Wait. I will steal some bread, cheese and fruit. We will cool down the babies _and_ have our own little party." Pityë sped after her. They returned quickly, laden with a large basket, towels and a blanket. And the rest of company arose as one and walked calmly toward the path into the woods. Although they did not intend to enter deeply into the forest, Túgann and Legolas kept their bows ready.

They arrived shortly at a watercourse, not deep or wide, but very cold, flowing swiftly into this valley from its source in the Misty Mountains. A short distance upstream it had widened into a little shining pool, perfect for swimming. As is the custom among Elven-folk at such times, they shed their clothing without embarrassment. The twins, at last cheerful, scampered into the fast-running shallow water and immediately began to kick and splatter.

Finally cooled to a tolerable of degree of comfort, they left the water and wrapped themselves in towels and sat on the blanket, where they had spread their modest feast. They ate, talked companionably and sometimes laughed, taking turns in splashing with the children who could not bear to leave the spring. For the rest of the afternoon, no one moved to leave their shady spot, returning to refresh themselves in the water at will, acutely aware of the earlier discomfort of the Elf-children and knowing that the setting of the sun would bring no relief in such weather.

When the sun had fallen close to the horizon, Túgann was first to move, a smile on his kindly, handsome face, and asked, "Please, cousins, shall we take these young ones back to the house, before they become overtired and turn ugly again?"

"Thank you, Túgann," Gellwen said, "We'll be along soon." She continued slowly toweling her heavy long hair dry, as she gazed toward the pool where Legolas swam, having returned there just a few minutes earlier.

After some negotiations relating to the divvying up of belongings and Elf-children, Túgann, Laitaine and Pityë set off toward the clearing. Gellwen turned to watch them leave. She sat on the blanket with her bare back now turned toward the stream and the mass of her dark hair pulled forward over her shoulder. She sensed more than heard when Legolas approached her.

"If you as much as touch me, my love, I take no responsibility for what will happen," she said evenly, without turning to face him.

"Is that a threat, a promise or an invitation?" he asked softly, evidently pleased at the opportunity, but not without an element of humor in his voice. He knelt behind her, placing his hands on his lover's bare shoulders and kissed her neck.

"Turn around, Gellwen, look at me," Legolas said. "You once asked me to trust you. I did and you were right. We had the opportunity to learn to know one another and gain the acceptance of our kin. But I fear that to wait further will bring us little hope of bliss. Please trust in me now."

Gellwen turned to Legolas, lifted her face to his, looking into his eyes, allowing him to enfold her in his arms, and feeling for the first time the silken touch of his skin and the grandeur of his flesh directly touching hers, said seriously, "Oh, yes. I will have you now, my dearest love. I will not permit the joyful immediacy of our coming together be worn down to the commonplace comfort of a union too closely considered and too long delayed."

They knelt holding onto one another, bodies pressed together from shoulders to knees, as though frightened to move or let go. Gellwen let out a sharp little cry of pleasure as she felt him harden against her. And yet it all seemed natural and simple now, so altered from that once desperate need for physical union that had teased and tortured them for months. In the face of its ultimate fulfillment, their desire lost its frantic urgency. Slowly Legolas began to kiss her; Gellwen's mouth opened knowingly beneath his. This part they had practiced oft enough, but their adoring explorations were different now, accompanied as they were by the awareness that this time they would not break them off. Legolas gradually lowered Gellwen down onto the damp blanket and pressed the length of his body more fully against hers. Placing one leg around her thighs, he drew her closer still. The irregularities of the ground beneath them, the dry grasses and the occasional twig were easily perceived through the blanket's thinness.

"Will this be less than you have hoped? Did you dream there would be stars, moonlight, flickering candles and an elegant bed?" Legolas said gently, still afraid she might retreat or that he should stop. He brushed soft tendrils of Gellwen's shadowy hair off her forehead with his fingertips to better view her entire dear face with blissfully adoring eyes.

"And a shimmering beautiful gown, music, and dancing…oh, yes, all that and more," she laughed softly. "But those were the elements of a little girl's daydreams, all I want now is you." But, that moment she shivered with sudden flash of terror at a vision of her own rosy bright naked body, which she appreciated as never she had before, being run through with a poisoned Orc blade. "Is it safe here?" she asked quaveringly.

"I feel no evil near tonight," Legolas assured her. "I can always sense it. You are safe with me."

She relaxed into his arms again. From the moment of her acceptance of his reassurance, there were no further interruptions to the fulfillment of their passion. They gave one another pleasure effortlessly. They caressed one another with awe and curiosity in places where another had never touched them. There were more kisses, outcries of passion, and a few tears of joy. Their Elven bond of heart and mind insured that there were no repressed emotions or unfulfilled desires. Any clumsy movements due to accident or lack of experience, and there were a few, even between these graceful immortal beings, resulted not in insecurity, but momentary flashes of playful silliness, and fond Elven laughter. The lovemaking was both more zealous and more soothing than the tentative preludes to it of past weeks, but it had none of the hardness of edge that had plagued their desire for it. The consummation of the act of love erased any remaining physical or psychic hesitation or guardedness and any further doubt that they were well and truly bonded, husband and wife.

After a period of sated relaxation and desultory communication, both verbal and mental, Legolas finally raised himself from the ground and resting on an elbow took Gellwen's hand. "As a token of my promise to you would I give you this ring," he said, slipping onto her finger a narrow band of gold set with diamonds, small, but each a perfect match of the others, cut with such skill, that, though purest white, they caught the dimmest light and shot out a glittering spark of every tint that reached them. "It was the last gift of my mother to me before she set out for the Grey Havens. It is a marvel that I did not lose it, for I refused to part with it day or night when I was no older than Erulehto and Yulion."

"My love, I will treasure it, as I cherish your love, and shall never remove it from my hand. I have no gift for you but this ring that I always wear. Yet, I think it a not unworthy offering, if you can but bring yourself to accept it," Gellwen answered, removing from her ear lobe a shining mithril ring.

She placed the ring in the palm of his hand. He studied it and his expression transformed into one of delighted amazement. He had seen it on Gellwen, but had never looked at it so closely or so carefully. It held no stones, but was covered with a recognizable style of intricate filigree, which led Legolas to immediately assume it was the work of her father. He asked astounded, "Your father fashioned this marvelous ring?" _I have long admired_ _Aranwë_'s _work but this reveals more, much more, than what I have heretofore seen._

"Nay, his father formed it in the great City of Gondolin, not long before its fall. It is one of few items our family managed to save. Will you still accept it, symbolic as it is of the pride of the mightiest of the Noldorand a reminder of past tragedy?" she asked.

"I would accept, with delight, a ring of brass from you, my dearest," Legolas said with a tender laugh, "but I feel somewhat abased to hold a treasure of such legendary proportions. Yes, I will wear it gladly, for its history is a part of you. But your father? What will he think of you gifting it?"

"He loves you much, as a son. He will be honored, and," her eyes twinkled mischievously, "I doubt that he will miss the drollness of the Prince of Mirkwood bearing a Noldor ring. And Thranduil?"

"It is not his place to accept or reject it. Perchance he will reason that his acquiescence, however grudging, will bode well for the future of his beloved realm, which he surely sees cannot stand alone."

She reached up and removed a single tiny emerald from his ear and carefully inserted her family heirloom. "May I wear this one?" she asked while, sure of his answer, she fastened the bright green stud into her empty lobe.

He looked into her laughing eyes and said, "It suits you well. 'Tis a perfect little gem for the wife of a simple Silvan Elf."


	9. A Good Catch

Looking out of the kitchen window into the living forest, where one giant fir stood, its darkest green in bold contrast to leaves of the red and gold of autumn, Pityë slammed the bread dough viciously against the board. She kneaded it violently and again punched it hard in the middle with an evident strength incongruous with her pretty, slender arms and small white hands. The dense verdant forest across the meadow in front of her that widened on both sides, should have presented a vision of bucolic loveliness had she not been acutely conscious that morning of the danger that moved inexorably closer month by month. _The peace of this lovely day does not fool me._ _Beautiful and compromised, a cruel illusion all of it,_ she thought.

Pots, which covered every available surface on the stove, bubbled with fragrant soups and stews. A true harvest feast, that would serve as an impromptu wedding party as well, was in the making. Her breads and rolls would add a final wholesome, but elegant, touch. _Grandmamma had talent_, she grudgingly admitted to herself, _and passed it on to me_. _My cousins have other skills. I have heard that in Lothlorien the most skilled bakers are men. Indeed, it is heavy work._ Wiping a single drop of perspiration from the end of her nose with the back of one hand, she thought bitterly, _In Lothlorien there are more men. Here in Mirkwood, generations of Elves have been pruned of their best and brightest. The older Elves have haunted, wounded, indecipherable eyes that I do not care to probe for fear of what I might find. And the youth, so handsome and so bold, with their careless merry laughing eyes, oft appear to me as naught but Orc fodder!_

Poicellë came into the kitchen and saw her daughter give the loaf one last brutal clout. "Darling, why are you downcast of mood?" she begged, wrapping her arms around Pityë. "You are not envious that Gellwen has already taken a spouse, are you? And not just any Elf, but the greatest prize in all of Mirkwood, such a good catch…"

"A good catch? What nonsense, mama. Oh, Legolas is splendid, fearless and kind, and we all love him like a brother. But, a prince among Elves? One who will always be the first into battle, in front of all the brave banners, and the first to die too, no doubt in a blaze of honor and glory, with our dearest Túgann falling at his side? A good catch?" she shouted, flushed with anger, before wrenching herself from her mother's embrace to weep passionately.

Poicellë moved a step closer to her daughter and once again enfolded her in her arms, "I am sorry to be insensitive, my dear. You and your cousins change so quickly. I know you have always loved Gellwen as a sister and that all of you, Legolas included, have grown closer yet throughout this difficult summer. But, you must accept what cannot be changed. You cannot spare Gellwen such pain, for she has already chosen her fate."

Pityë relaxed into her mother's arms and said, "It is so heavy, oppressive here. Of course, I them wish joy. I do try to hope, mama. I do. But I cannot stop thinking."

Poicellë spoke kindly and sweetly, "I know, my darling, it is hard for us all and you are so young. I spoke with Thranduil this morning. We will leave for Lothlorien in two days, so that we may arrive before the first snows. Do you even remember Lothlorien at all my sweet? We visited when you were a child. You will rest there. _Thank Eru! It holds a stronger magic. You will not feel the shadow there._ Now, look what you have done today. Your grandmother would take such pride in you. Let me be your scullery maid. Then you can finish more quickly and rest before tonight's festivities."

Finally, Pityë, satisfied with her work, surveyed lines of breads and pastries arranged on the counters. "Thank you, mama," she said calmly, kissing Poicellë on the cheek. A small army of Elves walked to and fro on the lawn in front of the compound, setting up tables and chairs, pounding torches into the ground, creating with simple rustic materials, what she knew would be transformed into a magical wonderland under the night stars.

"You will feel better soon. Go rest and talk with your cousins."

Pityë entered the top loft bedroom to find Gellwen and Laitaine, hands on hips, surveying the large bed, which was covered with a rainbow of gowns.

"You look so flushed and pretty. Come and help Laitaine decide what to wear," Gellwen said, holding out her hand to her cousin.

Pityë kissed Gellwen on the cheek and laughed, flopping onto the nearby window seat and rubbing her feet, "If the exhausted, overheated look is so attractive, perhaps I should stand over a hot oven for fours hours before every party."

Laitaine jumped up and wet the corner of a small towel in the washbowl and bathed her cousin's hot face. "Gellwen insists on wearing the same blue dress she wore on Midsummer's Eve."

"I do not want to discuss it further. Legolas fell in love with me in that dress. He says he often thinks of how I looked dancing in that gown." The cousins could not control their inelegant guffaws.

"She is as blind as she is besotted," Pityë replied. "He has loved her all of his short life. I do not think it has much to do one way or another with her blue dress." Then she chanted, her lovely voice deliberately marred by a mock-tragic whine:

_Tinúviel was dancing there__  
__To music of a pipe unseen,__  
__And light of stars was in her hair,__  
__And in her raiment glimmering._

"Fine. I surrender. Then she may wear the blue dress. What does it matter that everyone saw it at the last fest. I am certain that Legolas cares not what dress she wears, or if she wears anything at all, for that matter," Laitaine added.

"And to think I actually thought you might leave me in peace when we were finally bonded and wed," Gellwen said exasperated.

"But, tell us, Gellwen, when did he decide to finally leave?" Pityë asked, glancing in the direction of the small flet-like structure perched in a large oak that could be seen from the bedroom window. Gellwen and Túgann had built it as children and it had passed through many incarnations: playroom, secret hideout, Túgann's bedroom and most recently was being used by Gellwen and Legolas. "The two of you have scarcely left your little nest for three days. "

"He never did _decide_ to leave. His father came looking for him and dragged him away," Laitaine interjected.

"No!" Pityë said with a pretense of horror.

"Oh, do not fret. If anything, Thranduil looked quite smug; probably filled with fatherly pride that Legolas was fulfilling his husbandly duties with such energy and enthusiasm," Laitaine giggled.

Uncharacteristically, Gellwen felt her irritation with Pityë and Laitaine softening rather than growing as the imaginative level of their nonsense threatened to increase. "Oh, how will I survive without the two of you for three months while you are gone to Lothlorien?"

At that moment, Túgann appeared at the doorway and drawled, "You will not have to. You will not be staying here without them. Thranduil just came by with plan."

Poicellë and Callë had spoken with Thranduil and explained their wish to visit Lothlorien, of the desire to visit kin, long unseen, and their concern for the prolonged affect of the pervasive oppression of Mirkwood on their daughters. They had offered to carry any messages he might have and asked for an escort. In turn, he has asked Poicellë and Callë report to Celeborn and Galadriel increased sightings of foul creatures and encroachment of evil from the south and east that oppressed the spirits and polluted the forest. He had suggested that Legolas and Túgann accompany the party, with four of their comrades in arms. Thranduil assumed that Legolas would not want to leave his young bride, so it was understood that Gellwen would go as well. She would be an asset. Although she was not battle-tested, she had skill with a bow nearly equal to that of her brother and husband.

The rest of the afternoon in Aranwë's household, which would have been spent in preparation for the evening's festivities, was instead filled with discussions and plans for travel.

Finally, twilight in the open glade passed into night. In the silvery moonlight, beneath a ceiling of stars, the open banquet hall was bordered by dozens of torches. Tables covered in white cloths lit by hundreds of candles encircled a dance floor laid upon the grass with all the Elven skill that Mirkwood possessed. At one end, upon a raised dais, the luminous beauty of the couple at his side for once eclipsed the Eleven King's charismatic glory. Legolas and Gellwen sat at Thranduil's right and were clad in silvery green and shimmering palest blue, crowned with wreaths of blossoms of late summer and early autumn, threaded through with every gem of emerald and adamant of Aranwë's family store. Whether it was the brightness of their youth and hope or the reflected glow of moonlight, stars, candles and flaming torches, they shone like High Elves of legends of ages past. Thranduil looked at the couple and the beauty of them smote his heart and he stood, raising his goblet high, and said:

"I present a toast to my beloved son, Legolas, and his radiant bride, Gellwen, daughter of Cálale and Aranwë. I salute them as standard bearers for the latest generation of Elvenkind to come of age in this great, though threatened, woodland dominion. They came into their majority after the Battle of Five Armies on the slopes of Erebor, the last major combat joined by this realm. Although their generation has not marched into great battles nor joined in grand alliances, neither has it ever known peace. It has placed itself in harm's way, time and again, paying the price, without the glory, of maintaining our defense. You, my people, have all sought to cherish and protect them, to love them and instruct them. And you have done that well. Now they step forward, with a courage and optimism that heartens me, although much too soon for a father's ease, to defend and safeguard the future of this kingdom, nay of Arda itself. And this they need do with wisdom and discernment that must surpass our past efforts if it is to succeed. I beg of you all to toast their future, for it is our own."

A shout as of one voice went up among the Elves who gathered in that fair field that night. Legolas shifted uneasily in his seat, holding more tightly to Gellwen's hand that he had not loosed the entire evening. _How am I to be expected to respond to such excess of expectation?_ But thankfully a tenor, accompanying himself on the harp, immediately began a love song so passionate and heartfelt that every lover on the field leaned in a bit closer to their beloved. Thranduil turned to Legolas and said sadly, "His voice of rivals that of his grandfather, one of the best of Lindon; I saw him fall in the Dead Marshes, along with too many other singers, artists, and musicians."

Gellwen left her seat and leaned in between her husband and his father and wrapping her arms around Thranduil's broad shoulders placed her cheek against his and kissing it said gently, "My Lord, we must take pleasure in the beauty of this moment and rejoice that we hear his grandson. Would you like me to request a merrier tune? He is very good with those as well. And I would very much like to dance with you, Sire."

Legolas watched amazed, as his father grinned at her. _I have suffered his dark brooding for my entire life and Gellwen banishes it one kiss._

By the slightest nod toward the musicians, Thranduil, requested a livelier tune, and immediately the tempo shifted. With the widest of smiles, he took Gellwen by the hand and led her on to the dance floor. She was Elven grace incarnate and Thranduil made a handsome partner, whose skill with woodland dances, unbeknownst to him, was flavored with Sindarin refinement. When the music moved from Sindarin, with a heavy woodland influence, to a purely Silvan strain throbbing in communion with the spirit of the great forest, Legolas approached and with a short bow and affectionate smile to Thranduil took Gellwen from him. Their cousins quickly found partners and joined them.

Wind instruments and clashing tambourines united in an increasingly frenetic pace and the younger Elves cast off all restraint and danced as the music demanded, that is with a joy that approached the orgiastic and a sensuality that stopped just short of the overtly sexual. Thranduil took his seat, with a heavy sigh of pure relief, turned to Cálale and Aranwë on his left, and laughing, said "I will never understand how they do that." "Nor I," Cálale responded, raising her elegant Noldorin chin. "It does, however, have a certain primitive beauty does it not?"


End file.
